


The Monsters of Los Santos

by Skadiyoko



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Gen, and all the things that come with those two things, spooky scary au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5134640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skadiyoko/pseuds/Skadiyoko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, as soon as he got to Los Santos, Geoff turned into a monster magnet. </p><p>He wasn't complaining, though. </p><p>Okay he was complaining, but only on the outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Monsters of Los Santos

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to have this out a month ago, but October was not giving me the time of day. Anyway, here's some backstories to a Spooky Scary GTA AU I've been working on. Geoff's up first! (ouo)/
> 
> **EDIT**
> 
> This chapter has been revised, and is over 1700 words longer! Woohoo!!

Geoff always knew he was destined for greatness.

Is how he would begin his autobiography. It was a lie. The whole goddamn story, lie after lie after lie. In actuality, Geoff never had any idea what he wanted out of life. That's why he enlisted in the army as soon as he got out of high school.

When he got back to the States, everything was the same. His dignity would not let him go back to live with his parents, leaving him stuck applying for minimum wage jobs that he would just end up quitting, or being fired from a couple weeks later. During that point in time, his outlook on life only became more and more bleak. Apparently there was no life changing epiphany coming to strike his mind with clarity. Eventually he stopped with the empty jobs, resorting to pickpocketing and shoplifting on the shady side of town to survive. Food and booze weren't free, not even for a vet, which was absolute bullshit. He couldn't even afford a beat up car to tear out of this place with.

Days went on like that, blending together like the drinks he mixed. Until one day, that is, when he saw a tour bus rolling through his shitpot of a town, and the gears in his head began to turn. It was painted a matte black, but there were scuffs all over where a mint green flaked through. The front windshield was dusty and smudged, and there were stickers and lipstick writing in almost every other window. It was like a spotlight was shining from the Heavens, with big, garish neon arrows pointing just to make sure he got the fucking picture. He did. Get the picture that is. Geoff was done living his life on standstill. He was only twenty-three for fucks sake! He needed more, and he was getting in with this band if it was the last thing he did.

Luckily for him, the band was nice, and welcomed him aboard with barely any hesitation once he said he knew how to work audio equipment. They told him they'd be staying the night in a hotel, and leaving in the morning. If he still wanted to go with them, he was to be on the bus by then. Needless to say, Geoff packed a single bag with all of his clothes and the few meager possessions he cared about, and got the fuck out of Dodge (Alabama). The band was unknown to Geoff, but their music wasn't too bad. Loud rock with a shot of grunge mixed in. When he introduced himself, the rest of the roadies were very nice and welcoming. Looking around, he had a feeling he would be wearing a lot of plaid and ripping his jeans in the future, along with buying a pair of combat boots or Chucks while he was at it. Not a style he ever saw himself wearing, but when in Rome, right? He just hoped they wouldn't make him grow his hair out. Though what really sold Geoff, if he were being perfectly honest, was the sight of a well loved PlayStation with plenty of games tucked in a cabinet under the 20 inch TV.

It was so easy to fit in and get along with everyone. Looking back, he can't believe he ever trusted people so effortlessly. Not to mention strangers trusting himself without an ounce of suspicion. Nowadays he can't even shake someone's hand without keeping an eye out in case of a surprise attack.

Over a year and a half Geoff traveled with that band, and for the first time he felt alive. The music was loud, the fans were wild, and the company didn't make him want to jump out of a window going 70 down the highway. The band's drummer pretty much became his best friend, and he had a nice with benefits thing going on with a couple of the other roadies. Even though showers were scarce, and the inside of the bus often smelled like toasted funk, stale alcohol, and smoke, Geoff was happier than he could ever remember being. But you can't be a roadie all of your life, and Geoff realized that when they wheeled into Los Santos. Infatuation hit him the moment they entered the city. The sun was shining, the beaches were white, the buildings were tall, and the people were _everywhere_. Los Santos was a crude melting pot brimming with life. Their show was in the Maze Bank Arena, packed with bodies, and Geoff couldn't walk a block without spotting a dealer hanging around a shady alleyway. Sirens were so normal, nobody batted an eye when police cars flew down the busy streets. News helicopters seemed to perpetually fly around in the cloudless sky, and there was a fifty-fifty chance that deafening bang was either a car backfiring, or a gunshot.

The crew stayed there for three days, and every second Geoff felt the city pulling at him more and more. They got drunk bar hopping, singing with the music and getting buddy-buddy with middle aged businessmen and women who didn't even bother changing from their work clothes before hitting the bottle. They partied in strip clubs, choking on perfume and laughing with glee when one of the dancers recognized them and told them she was at one of their shows. She was so awesome, Geoff ran out to their rented car, and snagged a t-shirt to give her. Even just driving to a corner store at eleven in the morning to buy coffee and doughnuts had the man wide-eyed and longing for the city. So when their shows were over and the crew had to leave for their next venue, Geoff waved goodbye to them from the parking lot of The Generic Hotel, bag by his feet and $500 they insisted he take in his pocket. He was definitely going to miss them. Hell, he was blinking back tears when everyone gave him farewell hugs and kisses! The happiness they brought into his life would always be remembered and cherished, but Los Santos was going to finally give him the life he had always dreamed of.

A life worth living.

 

.:.:.:.:.

 

Five days later he was bleeding and in pain, mugged for the first time ever and unable to lift himself off of the dirty-ass concrete for at least a half an hour. Unknown to Geoff, it was glaringly obvious he was new to Los Santos, and the criminals could spot him from a mile away. His eyes were too warm, and gait too carefree. It was a wonder he lasted that long before someone got him. They took his wallet, and left him with a broken wrist, miscellaneous cuts and bruises, and grit clinging to his skin. Compared to the overwhelming hospital bill and halfhearted care he received from the rundown staff, the trauma from the attack was like a playground bully had shoved dirt in his face. He was kicking himself in the ass for not signing up for Veterans Affairs, because now he was unemployed, with about $300 left to his name, and a couple grand in debt from medical bills. Geoff's chest grew so tight, he was afraid he was having a heart attack, but thinking about more debt made him calm his shit down right then and there. A tightness still lingered, but eventually he stopped paying attention to it.

Instead of going out and frantically searching for a job to pay for everything like a normal person, he went and bought a cheap bottle of whiskey to drink himself stupid that night. It was disgusting. Geoff complained about how it tasted like three week old ass to the empty room, and the spite was just what he needed. At about two in the morning, he had tired himself out, listlessly laying on the couch with only about an inch of liquor left in the bottle. The ceiling was spinning, and Geoff blinked slowly as his head spun, the edges of his vision darkening. In that moment, right before he passed out for good, he came to a decision. If this city was going to show him it's fangs, then he'd just have to grow his own. Tomorrow he would forget about his debt, and use the last of his money to buy a gun. This city fucked with the wrong sad sack of shit.

Tomorrow, he would take the first step to claiming it as his.

What he wasn't counting on was someone offering help.

 

.:.:.:.:.

 

The next day was warm, sunshine illuminating Los Santos once more. With just a small amount of delicacy, Geoff approached the receptionist at the front desk and asked if there were any weapon shops around here. She rattled off the name Ammu-Nation and it's closest address without missing a beat, glancing at his bruised face and broken wrist with a tired look in her eyes. He thanked her once she explained the general direction of the street, and she asked him to keep it concealed whenever he entered the building. Nodding an affirmative, Geoff exited through the spotless glass doors, and began walking. It was going to take a while, but he didn't have a car and could not afford to splurge on a taxi. So, walking it was.

By the time he finally got to the store, his legs felt like they were on fire. His army days weren't even that long ago, and he was already out of shape. Something told him that was not a good position to be in in this city, and he mentally planned to start jogging or something because like hell was he going to let something like shitty endurance be his downfall.

The storefront actually wasn't as sketchy looking as he expected. Nice brick warmed the outside, with a blue overhang spelling it's name, and bright red doors that could use a fresh coat of paint standing in the middle. Neon buzzed in the window, advertising that yes, you can buy guns and ammo here. Geoff walked in after catching his breath, and was once again surprised at how, well, clean this place was. Cream colored the walls, one side shelved with body armor and boots, the other displaying racks of jackets. Knives, batons, grenades, pistols, and ammunition sat in glass display cases, while the bigger firearms were hooked on the wall behind the employee. A pretty large man, with muscles, tattoos, and a camo vest over a black t-shirt. Though he looked intimidating, he gave Geoff a smile and welcomed him.

“Hey, what's up, man? I don't think I've seen you around before,” he greeted.

“Uh, yeah, I'm new in town,” admitted Geoff, feeling a little awkward and maybe he shouldn't have given that information out? Either way, it was out, and the man snorted.

“Yeah, I can tell,” he said, gesturing to Geoff's injuries.

Sighing, he just nodded. “Yeah, well, I learned my lesson, and that's why I'm here.”

Nodding, the man gestured around the room. “Well then, what can I get for ya?”

Here Geoff sighed again, and pulled out his wallet. “I have three-hundred and fifteen dollars to my name. Can I get anything with that?”

A loud, negative sounding hum filled the air, and the man shifted his weight and bit his lip for a minute. Geoff just stayed quiet, hoping. “Well,” he started, voice lilting in the middle of the word, “the cheapest I got is a 9mm that costs three-fifty.” Geoff's shoulders sagged, he would have to somehow come up with thirty-five dollars plus tax before he could feel safe. Fuck.

“Well, thanks anyway, buddy. I'll try and come up with that an-”

“But!” the man continued, acting as if he didn't just cut Geoff off, “There's something about you, guy. It might be I just like you, or it might be that pink cast you're rockin'. Either way, I'm willing to make a deal with you.” Suddenly, Geoff's hopes were back. He gave his full attention to the man, and honestly felt bad he didn't even know his name by this point. “Now, this ain't exactly legal, but fuck it. Something as small as this the police won't even bat an eye at.” He leaned on the counter, prompting Geoff to lean in as well. “So, you pay me three right now, I'll register the gun to you, and write down that it's paid in full. Hell, I'll even _give_ you the gun, and all you have to do is pay me the rest in a timely manner. Sound cool?”

Sound cool?? That sounded like the luckiest thing that's happened to Geoff since that tour bus pulled into Alabama! He couldn't help but beam, and hold his hand out in excitement. “Dude, that sounds like pretty much the most kickass thing ever! Like, thank you so much, I swear I'll pay the rest when I can!”

Chuckling, the man took his hand in a firm shake, “I really hope so, because if you don't make good on this, you'll regret it.” And yeah, that was definitely a threat, and a part of Geoff was definitely scared by it, but he was not planning to screw this guy over anyway, so it didn't matter. It was a necessary threat, especially in a business like this in a city like Los Santos.

After that, they broke out the paperwork. Geoff finally learned the man's name, Rich, and damn was he just a cool guy all around. Obviously he wasn't exactly a prim and proper business owner, genuinely astounded when Geoff brought out his license. “Wow I can't believe you actually have a license,” he murmured mostly to himself, telling Geoff that he must be selling regularly to people without licenses. It should bother Geoff, the law being thrown aside so nonchalantly, but it really didn't. He was learning the rules of Los Santos pretty quickly.

Once everything was said and done, and Geoff had a shiny new firearm at his hip, he shook Rich's hand once more and left Ammu-Nation feeling much more secure than before. Breathing deeply, he started his long trek back to his hotel. It wasn't even evening yet, but he was exhausted. He could practically feel how his eyelids were drooping more than usual, which was saying something. When he got back to his room, he was going to chug a bottle of water, and pass the fuck out.

Fortunately Geoff's a master at directions, and did remember the way back to the hotel. Pushing his way into the entrance hall with weary muscles, he looked around. There were a few more people there than this morning, and he tugged his shirt down before nodding politely to the receptionist. She gave his a small smile in return, and he headed up to his nice room with a light heart.

Sliding the key into the lock, Geoff strolled in, kicking his shoes off. He was about to head for the bathroom when the sound of a chainsaw revving echoed through his skull. The room darkened, and when he looked to the windows, all he saw was black. There were no buildings, no robin egg sky, nothing but an endless void. A circle then began to appear on the center of the room's table, smoking as if being drawn with fire. Strange symbols outlined and filled in the circle, and once it was complete, it pulsed red before glowing a beautiful blue. A thin hand shot from within the circle, making Geoff screech and immediately back up to the door. He found it without taking his eyes off of the circle, where a blonde head and pale shoulder began to show. Desperately unlocking the door, Geoff pulled at the handle as hard as he could, but it would not open. Panic filled him to the brim as the face of a woman emerged from the circle. Pointed black horns protruded from her skull, curving in a chaotic elegance around the sides of her skull. Red irises glowed upon black spheres, staring directly into his soul. A whimper escaped his throat, and he began to shove his whole body against the door again and again. It wouldn't budge.

The woman was pulling herself out more and more, another arm coming up to help heft her out of the circle. It held the most viscous looking chainsaw Geoff had ever seen; black and silver and glimmering in the occult firelight. This was unbelievable. He was going to die. He was going to die and he didn't even understand what kind of supernatural bullshit was going on, or why, but this woman was going to tear him apart. Another panicked whine sounded while tears began to blur his vision. She was almost out, pulling a leg up to finally hoist herself into the room fully. Her eyes stayed on him, but Geoff caught her momentarily looking down to hop from the table to the floor. Without a second thought, he pulled his pistol out of it's holster and fired. His military training had stuck with him, it seemed, as he registered the hole in her neck. Her knees gave out and sent her to the floor, smashing her lower back hard against the table edge as she went down. Pained gasps sounded like nails dragging down a chalkboard in the silence of the room as she choked and drowned in her own blood. Geoff wanted to pass out.

Arms still extended, whole body shaking, and wrist on fire from the recoil, he stood there watching wide eyed as the woman stopped choking, and went quiet. He would have been relieved, if he had killed her. But he hadn't, as he saw the wound rapidly healing right before his eyes. It wasn't even a minute before the woman grunted, sat up sluggishly, and coughed hard. The bullet flew from her mouth, landing a little bit away on the floor. Quiet filled the room, Geoff white as a sheet and too scared to make any noise, and the devil woman wheezing deeply while wiping blood from her chin. Her eyes flashed to him, stopping his heart.

“Well,” she breathed, and coughed once more to clear the phlegm and blood from her throat. Geoff was taken aback by how normal her voice sounded. “I knew I was right to come and meet you. You're scared to the point of shitting yourself, but you still got one hell of a fiery spirit.” Peach lips drew up in a smirk, showing off sharp fangs. The woman stood up, stance lax and chainsaw still gripped too obviously in her hand. She looked so comfortable with it, as if it was an extension of her body. There was no doubt she could wield it as such. Geoff wouldn't voice his thoughts, though. Couldn't if he wanted to, really. Still frozen to the spot, blue eyes darted from the woman's face, to the chainsaw, to the symbol still smoldering on the table.

Noticing this, the woman's smirk turned a little softer as she rolled her eyes. “Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you, tough guy,” she comforted, going so far as to let go of her weapon. It was swallowed by blue flames and vanished before it hit the floor.

Geoff wasn't sure how he was still conscious.

“My name is Griffon, by the way,” and somehow, such a humanlike introduction snapped Geoff out of it.

Just a little.

“What the fuck,” he breathed, leaning almost all of his weight on the door. The gun lowered to his side, his arms shaking too much to keep it lifted, though he still had his finger on the trigger. Even though he now knew he couldn't kill this creature, it still made him feel just the tiniest bit secure.

The woman, Griffon, turned her back to him and stepped to sit on the couch. Her neck showed no signs of ever being shot, except for the drying blood that was still smeared down to her chest. Now that he could think, Geoff assessed her a little more in detail. Horns or no, she was damn pretty. Her hair was a bright blonde, shaved on one side and hanging lightly just above her shoulder on the other. A septum piercing glinted in her nose with the room's overhead light. She wore a black t-shirt that had the sleeves manually cut off, showing colorful tattoos cascading down her toned arms. A pair of capri jeans hugged her hips, and simple black flip flops smacked against her feet. Geoff's head spun at the sheer _normalness_ of her outfit. This woman was dressed like she was ready for a casual day out, but she had horns and glowing red eyes and a _tail_ for fuck's sake. Shaking his head to himself, another “what the fuck” formed on his lips.

She giggled a little, _giggled_ , and leaned back into the cushions. “For real, I'm not gonna hurt you. And you're more than welcome to sit on the couch with me. I just want to talk with you.”

Did this bitch think he was insane??? He wouldn't sit next to her if God himself came down and told him to! He shook his head no, but knowing there was no escape, and feeling a little better she was visually unarmed and farther away from him gave him a little courage. Taking a deep breath, he licked his dry lips. “What the fuck do you want with me?” Shaky was a kind word to describe his voice, but he couldn't get too hung up on that now. The room was so quiet his ears were ringing, and he had to use all of his focus just to hear her.

“Long story short, I want to make a deal with you, Geoffrey Fink.”

And, uhhh, FUCK no?!! If there's anything Geoff prides himself on, it's having working survival instincts and _not_ going and doing stupid shit literally every person with common sense knows not to do. Making a deal with the devil was literally one of the things sitting on the top of the fucking list! So of course he immediately opened his mouth and just about hissed, “No thank you, I'm not some stupid fuck.”

Griffon sighed, but didn't look disappointed. She still had her smile, no teeth and looking at Geoff with what he thinks would be gentle eyes if they weren't soulless voids. “Of course you're going to say that. If you had immediately jumped on board, I would have probably just left. Making deals with the reckless is always exhausting, and usually not even worth it,” she laughed, and it was so charming. Geoff had to keep mentally slapping himself. This demon must be trying to woo him with some sort of lusty magic, and he was not going to lose his soul to something as embarrassingly cliché as lusty magic.

Then she shifted, sitting up straighter and looking at him in the eye. His shoulders rose to his ears, but couldn't look away. “I do want to tell you what the deal is, though. I want you to be able to think about it.”

“I said no, lady! So just leave me alone! What makes you fucks leave? Salt? Do I need to go and get my salt??” he yelled. Now that the shock was wearing off, he was stepping into hysterical territory.

Griffon made a sour face and held her hands out. “Uh, no, please don't start throwing salt around. That's one, really rude, and two, would just make a mess and neither of us would be happy.”

And yeah, she kind of had a point, but she did seem genuinely concerned by the mention of salt. Geoff filed that information away in the back of his mind. “Alright then, you don't want to hurt me, I don't want to make a deal with you, seems like it's time for you to go then!” he said, shifting a little and vaguely waving his empty hand to the table.

Griffon rolled her eyes and stood up. For a moment, Geoff thought she was going to leave just like that. His hopeful feelings were smothered when she came to stand only a foot away from him. Crossing her arms, a faint, smug smile lifted her lips. It was a miracle he hasn't soiled himself yet. “Alright, alright. I'm going, but first, my offer.” She tilted her chin up, smile growing wider. More confident. “I, Griffon, offer you, Geoffrey Fink, the power to take the city of Los Santos for yourself. My fee is for you to pledge your soul to me, and to convey the souls of every life you take unto me.”

Gritting his teeth, Geoff felt an inferno rise within him. “For the last fucking time, I said no! I'm not going to just give my soul away to some goddamned demon! I've read books, I've seen movies, nothing good comes from some douchebag giving their soul to the devil for power! Now get the fuck out of my room!” he shouted, raising his gun again with much steadier hands than before.

Of course, Griffon was not intimidated, but she backed away nonetheless. Turning, she walked over to the table and stood on it again. After mumbling something under her breath, the circle started to glow that pretty blue again, and she began to sink down into it. Before she was gone, though, she spoke once more. “If you ever reconsider, call for me. Don't forget, my name is Griffon. Griffon.”

Just like that, she was gone.

Abruptly, Geoff heard police sirens, and it startled him so much he banged his elbow against the door handle. Outside the sky was blue, and he could see buildings clustered together. When he tried the doorknob, it opened easily. There was no scorch mark on the surface of the table, just smooth, polished wood. He went over to his bed and flopped down on it. Shoving his gun under a pillow, he breathed deeply. Pretending like none of that ever happened sounded like a really good idea. It was a hallucination, obviously. Illegal drugs ran this city, so everyone had to have had some sort of secondhand exposure to them at some point, and that secondhand exposure had to be able to cause hallucinations somehow.

Obviously.

What just happened wasn't real. A totally hot demon chick did not just come out of the hotel coffee table to offer him power and then leave without a trace. There's no such thing as magic, therefore, there's no such thing as demons and soul pacts. Of course there wasn't. Geoff laughed at himself and his brain for coming up with such a crazy story. He would have stayed there all day, but the laughter moving his gut triggered something in his bowls, and Geoff was up and sprinting to the bathroom without another thought.

Later, when he noticed a lone, used bullet sitting on the floor, he would have to dig all the more deeper into his pit of denial, even though deep down he knew every bit of that hallucination was real.

 

.:.:.:.:.

 

Geoff started up pickpocketing again. It was a lot harder in Los Santos than in Alabama. The people here were used to it. They knew how to spot a suspicious person. Knew to keep their purses zipped, and wallets chained to their belts or tucked away in a secret pocket. After getting caught over a dozen times, and beaten for a handful of them, he started hanging around the airport. It was crowded, loud, and full of tourists that were oblivious to the unspoken wallet safety rules of LS. It was a lot easier stealing from these chumps than the locals, and eventually, he found out he could get a _very_ pretty penny selling their passports. Which was a godsend, because with only a few good passports, he was able to afford food, water, a place of his own, and all the booze he could swallow. Oh, and he paid off his gun as soon as he could. There was no need to let a debt sit over his head like that, and Rich was honestly the closest thing he had to a friend in this city.

He lived like that for a while, buying a small place in Little Seoul. Stealing when his funds were getting low, and getting to know the city that seemed to both breathe life into him while simultaneously taking it away. When he was restless, which was almost always, he would just get in his car and drive. From the dangerous neighborhoods of South Los Santos, to the piers of Del Perro, to the spotless streets of Vinewood; he cruised and began to memorize it all. Took less driven side streets, and off road tracks. Learned the names, and eventually colors, of the gangs that ran each area. Geoff frequented restaurants and clubs, getting to know their employees, and even making friends with some of the higher-ups. When he tried, he could be very charming. He had a quick wit, and snappy jokes that were just riding the line of offensive. Everyone in this city was scum, though, and terrible jokes were laughed at just as loudly as hearing someone you never liked had been gunned down the other day.

A few years were spent like this. Geoff learned more and more every day, cataloging information about places and people in a borderline obsessive manner. Maps and navigation systems were pointless anymore, and he could swerve down so many back streets you'd get confused to where you were even if you were paying attention. None of the big boys knew about him, but a few shady establishments and back alley dealers gave him a friendly nod, or sat with him for a couple of drinks. Sometimes he would think about doing something more than his thievery. Get a small drug ring going, or maybe even pimping out some unfortunate ladies (or dudes), but every time he thought about getting bigger, he sighed. He needed _people_ to get bigger, and he hasn't met one person he liked that wasn't already in with some other crew.

Therefore, he stuck to stealing. Airport security was tightened a couple years ago, since there had been so many people calling the authorities and reporting missing passports in a panic. Geoff was smart, though. Learned which people would probably have more valuable passports, and bid his time to take those instead of a handful of small fries at a time. He also taught himself how to sneak jewelry and watches from people in big crowds. He never loved downtown as much as he did when there were business men and women crowding together, rushing to get home or to a bar after their nine-to-five jobs, never noticing when you bumped into them and took their shit. Never loved evenings as much as he did in Vinewood, lifting from the junkies and the drunkies stumbling around bar to night club to bar. Never loved the weekends as much as he did at Pleasure Pier, sneaking behind game and concession stands while employees were on break, easily picking open little locked boxes and taking all the cash they held, and stealing from happy couples having so much fun they forgot about the cash they slid in their back pockets for easy access.

Stealing was safe and easy, and Geoff was content with his life. He didn't need a crew, or drug rings, or warehouses full of illegal weapons. That kind of stressful life inevitably leads to an early grave, either from a bullet, or at the bottom of the ocean. He was happy with his Xbox, his very nice home, and his fully stocked bar in the basement. There was no need to push for more, and that old feeling of making this city his when he first resolved to stay here had been forgotten long ago. As had that terrifying dream of the demon that tried to take his soul. Occasionally he would imagine red eyes in the peripheral of his vision, but nothing was ever there when he turned to look, so he ignored those too.

Until he stole from someone that he really, really shouldn't have even looked at.

To be fair, how was poor little Geoff supposed to know a big mob boss from Paleto County was coming to sunny, criminal infested Los Santos City to meet with the Vagos? Certainly not poor little Geoff, and really, weren't these big time crime lords supposed to have private planes and shit? Why would they be walking around in a public airport? Honestly, he doesn't know why they didn't just drive up here, but that was kind of a moot thought as he was instantly caught by the guy's bodyguards and “escorted” out of the airport. They looked like normal security guards, and though nosy people turned their heads as he kicked and screamed to be let go, nobody lifted even a finger of protest.

He was bound with wire ties when they got to the car, and thrown in the trunk. If he hadn't just been _restricted and thrown in a crime lord's trunk,_ he would have appreciated how spacious it was. But no, he was going to die. Geoff couldn't believe he was going to die just because he was stupid enough to not notice the obvious DO NOT TOUCH, DUMBASS aura radiating off of Mr. Bigshot-McCrimeguy. But the man was old, and looked foreign, and those kinds usually had the most valuable passports on them that would easily sell for a hundred grand. Geoff made the mistake most people who got themselves killed in Los Santos made: Geoff got greedy.

So Geoff paid the price, and the price was a ride in the trunk of a car for what had to be over an hour, with nothing to do but think about his inevitable death and how cold his hands were getting from lack of blood flow. For a while he tried to focus on the turns and map out where they were going, but then he realized it really wouldn't matter. Instead he wallowed in his own pity. This was shit. Steaming, nutty shit. He never even touched the guy! McCrimeguy's guards were too sharp eyed to let an unknown thief even get close. But it's the thought that counts, as they say. As he laid there, old feelings began to resurface. Feelings of determination. Of seeking power. Of taking this city, one block at a time, until it was entirely under his thumb, and no one could so much as move without him knowing. He yearned to make these men kneel at his feet.

The trunk opened, and rough hands grabbed and threw him to the ground. They were in a deserted underground parking garage, the only source of light coming from the expensive car's headlights. Geoff was still reeling; dizzy and disoriented. When he came to, he saw a gun pointed at his head. Next he saw the boss standing beside the car, watching with disinterested attention. Saw the twitch of the guard's hand as it rested a finger on the trigger. No one uttered a word. Geoff felt a breeze blow – somehow making it's way down here from outside – smelled the salt of the Pacific, heard nothing but the crashing of ocean waves, and tasted freedom.

Geoff refused to die here.

“Griffon!” he yelled, head still swimming in sea foam. Over the rush he heard the mechanical thunder that haunted his nightmares. A roar echoed through the underground, and cobalt flames exploded from a spot right behind Geoff. Wide eyes watched as such powerful men were slaughtered right in front of them. First was the one pointing a gun at his head, whose hand was severed before the chainsaw was shoved into his stomach, spraying blood everywhere. The man was dead, but his screams still echoed off of the concrete walls, along with the bullets of the other three guards and crime lord. Many of them hit Griffon, but she didn't even flinch. Two more of the guards went down in a shower of gore before they could even blink, and the boss was suddenly in the still running car, shifting to drive with his last guard still shooting from the passenger's seat. Griffon, of course, would never let them escape so easily. With a snap her fingers the car exploded in a glorious blue and orange pyre.

The fire glinted in Geoff's eyes, and danced in his belly. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Slow and steady. Unlike the last time when Griffon walked towards him, his muscles relaxed. He felt at ease.

He felt safe.

A knife appeared in her hands, and she cut the ties around his wrists. From what he could see in the dim light of the still burning car, his skin was red and raw. Griffon was shining, fresh blood wet and coating her front. When he looked down at himself, he noticed he had not been spared from the spray either, but no matter how much he knew he should be gagging, he was surprisingly undisturbed. Grossed out, but nothing more. Gazing towards the burning pile of metal, Geoff thought the garage should have crumbled with it's explosion, but the structure was still completely in tact. Dark and five times as red than it had been. He couldn't smell the sea anymore.

Standing, he looked Griffon in the eye. They were the eyes he had ignored for four years, but now he was ready to face them. Straightening his back, Geoff took a breath, then another, and cleared his throat. If not for the horns and the tail and the hellfire, Geoff would have considered Griffon an angel. Patiently waiting for him to get his shit together quietly, with a small, inviting smile on her glossed lips. God he forgot how gorgeous she was. He just saw her rip five professional murderers to shreds, and there was still a stray thought of asking her out on a date bouncing in the back of his mind. He took another breath.

“I want to take you up on your offer,” he confessed, voice remarkably even and sure. “I want to make Los Santos my bitch.”

Griffon's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning, and her smile was wide and dangerous. She clapped her hands together, and Geoff wouldn't admit that the way her tail was subtly swinging from side to side was cute as fuck. She clicked her boots together, clasped her hands behind her back, and looked him straight in the eye. “Okay, understand that if you agree to form this pact with me, there is no going back. You will pledge your soul to me, while also sending every soul you take from this moment on, to me. In return, I will turn you into a demon, giving you the power to take the city of Los Santos, and offer my guidance if needed. If you break this pact, then I will be forced to consume your soul, erasing your existence forever. Do we have a deal?” she asked, extending her splattered arm formally. Geoff studied it, and bit his lip. Well, he knew what he was getting himself into when he called her instead of rolling over and submitting to his death. And really, it didn't sound all that bad. Inhaling, he took her hand in a firm grip before he could think any more and talk himself out of this.

Blue flames slithered down Griffon's arm, shooting out and up Geoff's. His entire body was engulfed in only seconds. However, he didn't feel pain. Didn't feel his skin melting, or smell his hair burning. Warmth spread over him inside and out, and he was infused with the sent of sulfur and char and smoke. There was a harsh pressure on his skull and in his ass, and he'd make a joke about anal if he wasn't in the middle of experiencing his own real life demonic metamorphosis right then and there. It didn't take long, and it didn't hurt at all. At most, the experience was uncomfortable, which was a lot different than the timeless agony he was expecting. The flames dispersed, and the dim glow of the car was once again the only light in the garage. Geoff could immediately tell he could see better. His tongue ran across sharp fangs, and he raised his hands to feel long, ridged horns slightly curving backwards and inwards above his skull. His brain registered his new, slim tail, and he figured out how to command it to move. Griffon chuckled, and summoned a full length mirror out of nowhere. Geoff immediately noticed he was no longer covered in blood, and neither was Griffon when he looked to her. His eyes were black and red, and his ears were pointed. A flame the same color of Griffon's fire sat in a ball between his horns, and it stayed there no matter how he moved his head. Other than that, he looked the same as he had a minute ago. Disheveled brown hair with a beard that was getting to be just a little too long for his likes, pale skin, and a thin frame. He looked both exactly the same, and completely different.

“Whoa,” he gaped, eyes wide in awe. Griffon was smiling still, enjoying how fitting this looked. “Was it...” he mumbled, frowning a little. “Was it not supposed to hurt?”

More quiet laughter. “It depends,” she started. “If the person is fully willing and consenting to the change, they'll barely feel a thing, but if a person doesn't want the change, or are making a pact against their will, their entire being will try to reject it, and that's when it hurts.” She waved the mirror away, relaxing her stance and looking Geoff over still. “I could tell from the moment you stepped foot in this city, you were destined for this. So I kept an eye on you, introduced myself to you early so you knew every option you had for your life.” She smiled, shaking her head in amusement. “Though I've gotta admit, I wasn't expecting for you to be so pig headed. You held out for much longer than I thought, and only called me when it was life or death.” A hum. “You are going to do some amazing things, Geoffrey Fink. I can feel it.”

Geoff glanced at his shoes, a little abashed, but mostly taking Griffon's words in. His life of steal, sell, rinse, and repeat was over. It was time for change, and he was going to work as hard as he could to do something great. To be something big. He was going to climb the ladder of the Los Santos underground one rung at a time, and eventually, he was going to be on top. With these new powers, he was going to strike fear into the heart of the city, and demand respect where respect was deserved.

Griffon stepped beside him, and put an arm around his shoulder. “Well, I guess there's no sense in wasting time. Come with me, and I'll start teaching you how to use these fancy new powers of yours, yeah?”

Blinking down at her, Geoff grinned. A light feeling pumped through his heart, and he nodded. “Fuck yeah,” he breathed. Griffon grinned back, and focused on the ground as a circle exactly like the one she made in his hotel's coffee table began to form beneath them. It glowed, and slowly pulled them both through. “The first lesson better be how to throw fireballs like in Mario,” he quipped, and Griffon burst into laughter, mouth open wide, and whole body shaking with it's force. The duo disappeared into the circle. They were going to get along just fine.

A salty draft blew through the garage, and the structure began to crumble and collapse on itself.

 

 

.:.:.:.:.

 

Most of his time was spent with Griffon after that. She taught him many things, like how to take a human form, how to summon and disperse of things with his magic, telepathy, and yes, how to shoot fireballs from his hands. He also learned common weaknesses, like salt, iron, and devil's traps. The underworld made him uneasy, but Griffon was kind enough to train him in the human world most of the time.

It took months to really get the hang of things, and with the guidance of his new mentor, Geoff was in complete control of his powers in no time. Still, he would practice when he could to keep his skills sharp and strong. When Griffon complimented his progress, he couldn't help but swell with pride. Although he wouldn't let it get to his head. He learned his lesson in that regard.

The blue flame that sat between his horns was a sign that he was a demon under Griffon. She said she wasn't exactly a high ranking demon, but their power would be more than enough to get Geoff what he wanted. It could never go out, and most of the time he forgot it was even there. In his human form it isn't visible, but he could still feel it, and it made him feel protected. Made him feel like even if he fucked up, he'd have someone there to help him stay on his feet.

Once he had his powers under control, he started to think about his future. Griffon said he could, theoretically, take the city alone, but it would be wiser to get a crew together. Geoff spent time thinking about what skill sets he would need in his crew, along with effective strategies for all of the hardships he would have to overcome. His future was filled with drug deals, gang wars, hostile police, negotiations, heists and making nice with the people living in his territory. It was exciting, and filled him with energy and conviction.

For now, though, he needed to run solo recon missions, keep an eye out for any potential members, and do a lot of planning.

He also changed his name. Geoff Lazer Ramsey sounded not only much cooler, but also more respectable thank Fink. Griffon just laughed at him, and he flipped her off because fuck her it was a super awesome name.

Geoff would visit a lot of bars. Mostly because now that he was a demon, his tolerance was through the roof, but also because he was listening to quiet conversations, and observing tough looking bargoers from the corner of his eye. In the army he never really had to use his gun much since he was a journalist, so he practiced in the Ammu-Nation shooting range. It wasn't Rich's store, but he's become buddies with all of the owners by now. Once he was comfortable enough with shooting a gun, he tried robbing a couple of gas stations on his own. They didn't go perfect, but he still got the cash and got away and he doesn't think he could ever get tired of the _rush_ such an experience gave him.

More years passed, and he had recruited a few people here and there. Some of them were good. Trustworthy and hard working, but in this business, that just wasn't enough to keep them alive. He gave their souls to Griffon, doing everything he could to resist the instinct to keep them for himself. She said she would treat them nicely. He didn't quite know what that meant, but it made him feel just a little better about it. Others he had to kill himself. Traitors and double agents that tried to steal his information, or outright assassinate him. These people he burned, and gladly handed over to his superior. After a time, he thought the only person he could trust anymore was Griffon, but she told him to keep his chin up, and keep looking. You didn't find crew members that clicked overnight, so even though he was pessimistic, bitter, and heartbroken, he still persevered. Geoff would look in the mirror, look at his new self, and remember. Remember what drove him to make his deal in the first place. He was going to be something great, and now he had all the time in the world to accomplish his goal. Smirking to himself, he left his bathroom and holed himself up in his office.

Los Santos was fucked.

 

.:.:.:.:.

 

Griffon watched over Geoff. He was the best decision she had ever made, and was more than glad she got to him first. His spirit was more wild than any she had ever encountered, and she knew he was going to change the world in some way. His heart was strong, and his morals were consistently teeter-tottering. Back when she made her deal with him, she knew she was in this for the long haul, and was remarkably okay with that. She had quickly become very protective of Geoff, and felt more proud than she should have when he mastered his new abilities so flawlessly. There was no doubt in her mind that he was born to become a demon, and watching him blossom so beautifully was something she knew was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Additionally, she wanted Geoff to achieve his dream. Wanted to see him bring this plastic city to it's knees, so unbeknown to him, she began constructing her own plans to help. A gift, she would call it. Secretly, she took a few embers from Geoff, and sent them out into the world. These embers were going to travel far and wide, finding the people who would best bond with her newest friend, and mark them. They would sit in these people, molding their fates, and bringing them into Geoff's life when the time was right. Appeased, Griffon turned away from watching Geoff, and got back to tending to her souls.

This was going to be one hell of a ride.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Next is Jack!
> 
> skadiyoko.tumblr.com


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